


All of Our Scars

by Skypewriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s11e05, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season 11, post s11e05, s11e05 Thin Lizzie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5160224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skypewriter/pseuds/Skypewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic for after last Wednesday's episode (Thin Lizzie). Dean and Sam's return to the bunker, and Dean and Cas's first time talking about Cas's curse together alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of Our Scars

It was storming when Sam and Dean made it back to the bunker. Not the quiet rain of early fall, but one of the last prevailing thunderstorms that rages before the break of winter, ushering in cooler temperatures and gusting winds. It pounded against the outside of the bunker as the brothers made their way inside and down the stairs. Sam tossed his bag at the base of the staircase and turned on a few lights, and Dean was close behind, discarding his jacket on a chair and pausing for a moment to look over the jumble of papers and books spread across their desk: articles and documents all pertaining to the cases from which they were returning, the most recent being a newspaper clipping about the Borden family. _Boy did that ever turn out to be wild ride_ , Dean thought, grimacing to himself as he pictured Len, in jail and soulless, and the bodies left in Amara’s ever-expanding wake.

“Cas? Still here?” Sam called, and Dean looked up as a faint response of affirmation came from down the hall.

“Think he’s started a new show yet?” Sam looked at Dean, grinning, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“He’s in your room, right?”

“Yeah. Don’t wanna kick him out, but, I’m shot.” Sam replied.

“Yeah, same here man,” said Dean, and yawned. Sam left the room, and Dean sat down at the desk, rifling through the papers in front of him. No updates on the darkness, yet, as far as he could tell, but he wasn’t surprised. Even without the introduction of Netflix, he wasn’t expecting Cas -- or anyone else, for that matter -- to find anything of use. Still, there was a familiar comfort in knowing Cas was trying to help, knowing Cas had spent so much time in the last couple months at this desk, doing his best to contribute to solving the problem. Dean felt a pang of guilt at how much Cas had suffered and how out of his element he was at the moment. He missed the angel, missed him flitting in and out of their lives, accompanying them so solemnly and yet with that ever present curiosity that contributed to his softness, that light but stern persona that made him so distinctively Castiel.

Dean smiled to himself; it was good to be back home. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up with a yawn and a stretch. It was late, and he needed sleep, the lull of the rain making his bed seem all the more inviting. He headed to his room, but before he made it inside he noticed a light on at the end of the hallway, the door to Castiel’s room outlined in a dim yellow glow. He paused; Cas was probably tired, as well, and surely Dean could wait until morning for a mere _hello_. But his sleepiness got the better of his senses, and he made his way down the hall and knocked softly at Cas’s door.

“Cas?” He said, his voice rough and just above a whisper. “You awake?”

There was no reply for a moment, then a quiet, “Yes, I am.”

“Can I come in?” Dean asked. Again, a pause, and then from inside -- “Yes.”

Dean opened the door slowly, stepping gingerly into the room to find Cas at the edge of his bed, hands folded in his lap and gaze fixed steadily on the floor. He was visibly tired, and appeared worn down simply by the weight of his body, his head tilted forward in a dreary nod.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel turned his head to look up at Dean, his eyes smiling with that faint look of strained sorrow that seemed to permeate his being in the recent months, and Dean felt of a stab of pain in his heart from how, well, _spent_ , Castiel looked. And yet, there he was, smiling at Dean as he always did, his voice low and soft.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean replied. “How’s the Netflix?”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “It feels like some sort of self-encouraged slavery,” he said, and Dean laughed aloud, louder than he expected. The tension in Castiel’s face subsided a bit and he smiled again. “I apologized to Sam for overextending my welcome in his room.”

“Oh, he doesn’t mind. You know Sam. Though you gotta put the remote down at some point.”

“Indeed,” Cas replied. He looked back at his hands, then again at Dean. “You look.... better.”

“Thanks,” Dean said softly. “You do too.”

“I still could help you, you know -- “ Castiel began, but Dean shook his head.

“I still mean it, what I said before. I had it coming.”

“Yes, but -- “

Dean cut him off again. “It’s good, man,” he said. “What matters now is getting you fixed up. A curse is worse than a punch in the face, I’d bet on that.”

“You want me to feel better, correct?” Castiel said, and Dean nodded.

Castiel dropped his gaze again, his face falling. He closed his eyes. “I would feel better if I didn’t have to see the pain I caused, every time I see you.”

The beat of the rain outside grew louder, filling the quiet between them. Dean turned back to the door and closed it quietly, then crossed the room and sat himself next to Cas.

“Okay,” he murmured, and Cas looked up.

“Okay, what?” Cas said, eyes now staring into Dean’s in the infuriatingly invasive way they always did, giving Dean that feeling that Cas was staring into his soul in the most literal sense of the phrase.

“Okay, so, fix me. If that’s what you need. But,” Dean said, as Cas raised his hand to Dean’s face. Dean caught his hand, holding it tentatively at first but then firmer as he returned Cas’s gaze.

“Know this,” he continued. “When you’re human, scars are part of who you are. Even the bad ones.”

“Aren’t all scars bad?” Cas asked, tilting his head.

“No.” Dean replied softly, and moved Cas’s hand to his shoulder, placing it on his shirt where he knew it covered the handprint Cas had left there so many years ago. “They’re not.”

And then he was kissing Cas, before he knew what happened or what he was doing or why, he was pulling Cas in towards him, and Cas kept his hold on Dean’s shoulder, just as he had when they had first touched in the pits of damnation and had saved each other without having ever spoken a word of introduction. They were so close, _god_ , and Dean pulled away just enough for him to wrap his arms around Cas and pull him back in, to bury his face in Cas’s hair and feel Cas let the weight of his body fold into Dean’s with a shaky exhale. Dean held him there, savoring the closeness, wishing he could cling to Cas forever because the embrace was exactly what he wanted and he never realized it but yet, hadn’t he always known? No, it didn’t matter what the answer was -- the answer now was yes, and he had no desire or reason to focus on anything else. Cas nestled his face into Dean’s collar and sighed again.

“Dean.”

Dean rested his head against Cas’s hair once more. “I know,” he whispered.

Cas nodded. They remained in their embrace for another moment, the rain filling the silence, and when Cas spoke again Dean felt as though his heart could break from the desperation in Cas’s voice.

“Please don’t go.”

“Aw, hell, Cas.” Dean murmured into his hair. “There wasn’t ever any chance of that.”

Cas pulled himself up gently, level with Dean’s face, bringing his lips to Dean’s in another kiss, soft but firm.

“I was so lost,” he whispered as their mouths parted. “You saved me, Dean. From the moment I met you,” Cas’s voice broke, and he spoke again.

“From the moment I met you, I was lost.”

Dean felt tears in his eyes. He turned and laid back on the bed, pulling Cas with him, and Cas went obligingly, snuggling up against the base of Dean’s neck. Dean relaxed back into the bed, and wrapped his arms around Cas.

“What are you feeling?” Cas asked, always curious, always inquiring, always Cas.

Dean tried to keep his voice from breaking, but it was barely any use.

“Safe,” he said, his voice rough. “Safe.”

He smiled into Cas’s hair, closing his eyes and breathing Cas in.

“I always feel so safe, Cas,” he whispered, “when I’m with you.”


End file.
